Phoenix's Story
by TimeTravellingCoyote
Summary: A possibility of what Jean Grey/Phoenix may have gone through between X2 and X3.


_Scott. Scott. I need you Scott._

Scott Donner, manager of Donner's Plumbing Emporium, gripped the steering wheel even tighter as the voice washed over his conscience. For the last week, a woman had been talking to him, in his sleep, at work, even while he made love to his wife. He had dreamt of nothing but a swirling vortex of water for the last fortnight. It was driving him insane.

His psychiatrist thought he was suffering from an access of stress, and highly recommended a relaxing vacation as soon as possible. Immediately after the doctor prescribed this, _or slightly before_ (the thought made Scott shudder), Scott's mind had immediately jumped to a scenic place he had recently heard about on TV, a place called Alkaline Lake. Within the hour, his wife had rented a cabin nearby. The next day, the two sat lounging on the porch swing, enjoying lemonades. Until She started talking again.

Ignoring his wife's confused expression, Scott scrambled into the car, claiming he had to make a beer run.

"The psychiatrist recommended no alcohol!" his wife querulously reminded him.

"Screw the shrink!" Scott yelled back, slamming the Ford's door.

_Scott. Save me Scott. Scott!_

Scott veered into the oncoming traffic, swearing as he corrected his course. He was getting closer, he knew it, he had to be, because the voice was getting louder. The whirlpool was back, snatching up his thoughts. Now Scott could see a woman in the water, her scarlet hair billowing around her like a fiery miasma. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ the man thought to himself. _Am I one of those freaks? A mutant? Or am I just going crazy?_

Gravel crunching beneath tire, the beige car finally pulled up alongside a foggy lake shore. Climbing out, Scott waved his hand through the translucent air.

"What the hell? What the hell is going on? What the hell is wrong with me? WHAT THE HELL!" The last sentence was screamed into the pearly sky, echoing back at him.  
>What the hell.<p>

Hell.

Hell.

hell.

Scott shivered. The voices had stopped. The man stumbled forward. Climbing onto a rocky outcrop, he futilely tried to survey his surroundings. His gaze fell down, to the surface of a still lake, the water unrippling above a –

"WHAT THE-"

This time he chose a stronger word, because staring up at him like a reflection was the woman of his dreams. Her face was pale, her eyes dark. He thought she wore a black dress, but sometimes it seemed red, or a mixture of the two. Her hair flowed just as untamed as it had in his dreams, coiling around her head like a raging inferno.

_Scott._

The mirage raised a hand, pointing at the shivering man, questioning him.

_You are not Scott! You are not him! YOU ARE NOT STRONG ENOUGH!_

Her anger ripped open his mind. His nose bled, his ears bled, even his eyes started to turn ruby at the corners. Memories flashed by as his brain started to decompose.

Green eyes. He looked into Julie's face as they shared their first kiss.

Pumpkin pie. His grandmother was cooking for him on Thanksgiving.

His child's laughter. His little baby girl hugged him on Christmas morning.

The tears. His goldfish dying. His daughter going off to college. The day the World Trade Centers fell.

Who Scott was, his soul, was quickly getting torn apart, disintegrated in the onslaught of telepathic force. He barely felt it as his body, now no more than a fleshy, bulky shell, flopped into the crystal lake water.

_You cannot free me. You are not strong enough. But he will come. I will find my Scott and he will free me. I WILL BE FREE!_

The entity known as Phoenix watched, if such a word can be applied to a being that can view the world in so many dimensions, as the corpse of Scott Donner sank forlornly onto the cadavers of Scott Janssen, Scott Marsden, Scott Stewart, and Scott McKellen.

Scott Singer, teacher or math at David Hayter Middle School, gripped the steering wheel even tighter as the voice washed over his conscience. For the last week, a woman had been talking to him, in his sleep, at work, even while he made love to his wife. He had dreamt of nothing but a swirling vortex of water for the last fortnight. It was driving him insane.


End file.
